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322 It is curious, after reading this outpouring of delight in the witchery of moonlight, to come upon a criticism like the following, sounding of a commercial estimate of the commodity : ' The picture is undoubtedly truth- ful. It embodies in the most exact fasiiion the general impression of a moonlight night. But most people want more for their money than a severely bare, bald representation of this kind.'

This view of criticism is the despair alike of the painter and of the amateur ; and no one has had more reason to complain of it than Mr. Stott. It is not ' informing,' and it misses its real objective in not being even smart. Mr. Stott has suffered heavily from the reporters, in whose hands so much of our art- criticism is thrown. One of these lately said that a streak of blue above, and a streak of green below, con- stituted the Stott formula for a work of genius. No streak of foolishness in criticism could have been more completely wide of the mark. Whatever else he is not, this painter is passionately painstaking. Every touch has its intention ; and it may sometimes be doubted whether his effects are not too delicate for the work of the brush. Before passing to an examination of a later develop- ment of Mr. Stott's art, we would say a word of his portraits. fhe O'eed of Mr. Stott in relation to jjortrait-painting may be summed up thus : ' A por- trait necessarily means a painting which shall s))eak to us of what the original is like. The better the like- ness is, the better the portrait, but not necessarily the liner the work of art. It takes its place as a work of art when it not only contains the likeness, but when the colour, the shape, and distribution of the objects, of the light and shade, make up a whole which is beautiful, and which will appear beautiful and interest- ing to those who never saw the originals as to those who knew them intimatel}-. In the portraits of ' My Father and Mother,' of ' A Young Girl playing- the ^'iolin,' and of ' A Lady at the Piano,' Mr. Stott has carried out various skilful schemes ot colour and chiaroscuro ; with a fine realism. He has presented to us ordinary folk in their ordin- ary surroundings. Such portraits are interesting as a page out of a work on manners, but they seem to us to lack the quality of spiritual insight which mark the work of the supreme portrait-painter. Mr. Stott gives us the surroundings, but he does not reveal to us the soul of his original. Take for instance the portrait canvas entitled ' My Father and Mother.' Dickens could not have given with a more incisive touch the picture of a British interior. Those two elderly jjersons seated by their fireside have apparently but little to say to each other. A newspaper lies unread on the lap of the father, the mother sits back in her chair. The admirabl}- painted accessories of a room, in which crimson is the dominant note, deepen the impression of a well-to-do idealless bviirgcume. The canvas focuses an oppressive atnu)sphere of which these two persons are ])art. Their individualities are merged in the general ini|)ression. Once more, the excess and predominance of Mr. Stott's sus- ceptibility to impressions enables him successfully to represent human beings in so far onlj' as they are in relation to the feeling of the scene. The cirl of the picture is admirable. The colour is a most learned exposition of subtle and difficult harmonies. Certain notes which form the leading motive wind in and out, appear and reappear, as in a piece of delicate orches- tration. Even the bit of glowing coal has its use. To some, perhaps, it is a hot cinder, and no more ; but others may be permitted to think that it brings the colour composition together in a way that makes the whole work a perfect luiir deforce of technique. Here- in lies the secret of Mr. Stott's power, as we have already suggested of his limitations. Now and then he has forgotten his parents, as human beings, in his ecstatic sense of their pictorial relationship to a world of colour and form. I'lie work is not exactly a ti'ibute of filial jiiety : it is only a masterpiece of art. Jean Francois Millet, in a country that has first uttered the fallacy ' Art for Art's sake,' is the painter of pictures suggestive of moral issues, and which are no less perfect as rendei'ings of nature's moods. His perpetual theme is the moving drama of poverty and toil ; of spiritual beings struggling with the harshness of material circumstances. He belongs to the hier- archy of supreme minds, who, while admirable inter- preters of the witchery of nature, are also pre-eminently susceptible to the spiritual force that shapes and rules destiny. Such a painter also was Bastien-Lepage, the leader of the naturalistic school, who, in every picture and portrait that emanated from his hand, unconsciously gave an epitome of the two great forces, the natural and spiritual, the supreme meeting-point of which is in humanity. Mr. Stott's later ])ictures are at once more delight- ful and more disappointing than were his earlier works. Never has he shown himself more master of the resources of technique, more susceptible to the rarer, the more delicate, the more penetrating effects of nature, more alert to pursue and to solve problems of colour and tint. More than ever he appears to us, in art, to be drenched in a sort of Pantheism, in which the sky, the sea, the shade of the woods, the sunshine of the noonday are more significant, more appealing to us, than are the representations of the goddesses and nymphs that are now the leading theme of his inspiration. The limitations of Mr. Stott's art are apparent in his representation of these beautiful physi- cal forms, the thought of which comes to us attended with memories of the speculations of ancient philoso- phers and poets ; and which still remain for us per- sonified forces of nature, figures enshrined in divine mysteries. Mr. Stott may well answer that lie has a right to his conceptions. On our side, we can no more detach these associations from our ideal of Venus, Diana, Juno, or Athene, than we can attach a new meaning to some noble word in our lani>uage.